


The Hardman Job

by frabjousday (frabjous)



Category: Inception (2010), Suits (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:19:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frabjous/pseuds/frabjousday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I told you to find me an Architect, not a charity case,” Jessica says after a glance at Mike, his scuffed jeans and ratty shoes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I ummed and ahhed about whether to post this because I generally don't post WIPs. But I'm making an exception and posting this as an open-ended WIP because I think the chapters I have so far can stand on their own, but probably don't contain enough plot in and of themselves to be posted as separate stories in one series.

The kid is green and doesn’t have nearly as much sense as he should, but he’s shiny new and wide-eyed in all the ways Harvey remembers from his first year. Not that his first year is something he likes reminiscing about, but what he’s learnt since is that instinct often matters more than experience. Mike has talent, smarts and hits the ground running. He’s the kind of person Harvey needs at his back.

“I told you to find me an Architect, not a charity case,” Jessica says after a glance at Mike, his scuffed jeans and ratty shoes. 

Mike looks like he wants to say something to that, but in the next moment he thinks better of it and stays silent. Good decision. Harvey’s seen Jessica plant herself in front of a mob of projections with nothing but a butcher’s knife and a ‘bring it’ expression so it’s probably one of the kid’s smarter life choices.

“I’ve said it before, Jessica: I don’t care how great Miles thinks he is; none of his architecture students have a goddamn clue about dream architecture.” 

Harvey has decided the problem comes from learning about physics and limitations first. Most of the rookies just couldn’t create - no, couldn’t even imagine - outside what they’d been taught at school. 

“And this one does?”

“He’s a natural,” says Harvey. “Give him a chance; try him out on a test run. If you’re still not impressed then we’ll find you one of those grad students you like so much. What do you have to lose?”

“It’s going to be the client’s time and money we’ll all be losing - not to mention the reputation of this entire team,” Jessica says sharply. But Harvey can see she’s already reconsidering her initial assessment of the situation because Harvey’s gone out to bat for Mike. Jessica might not choose to ask where Harvey dug up their new Architect, but she sure as hell trusts his judgment. 

Harvey’s closed deals with worse odds.

Jessica circles Mike like a predator, then pauses directly in front of him.

“You got a name?”

He stands straighter. “Mike - Michael Ross.” 

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Mike swallows. “I’m just... starting out.”

Jessica studies him for a moment. 

“I’m sure Harvey’s already told you that we only recruit from a very limited group of talent.”

Mike nods.

Military or academia. Keep the riff-raff and small-time crooks out. Keep the team tight and loyal, and keep their reputations clean. Professional. Jessica had implemented the policy to make sure they weren’t going to get double-crossed by former team members. And really, who could blame her after that year.

“It’s important for us to maintain quality of service and integrity of character our clients have come to expect. But according to Harvey, I should just hire you on his word, no references and no questions asked.” 

Her eyes flick to Harvey, warning him not to interrupt. Harvey presses his lips together and hopes the kid is smarter than he looks.

“Harvey tells me you’re a student - not one of Miles’, but that you’ve had some experience with dreamshare technology.”

“Yeah,” Mike says. “I was at Berkeley.”

Harvey has chosen this cover story because the Berkeley trials are one of the few experiments that haven’t had its details leaked. It’d been one of the last government experiments that anyone knew of, and Mike could claim that he’d spent the time learning how to forge the President’s dog and no one could contradict him.

“Is that right?” says Jessica with a significant glance at Harvey that says she’s far from swallowing the story down whole, but that she doesn’t disbelieve him completely either.

“I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“If this gets out, we’ll get all kinds of government and military attention,” Harvey cuts in. “Not to mention the competition.” 

Jessica’s less than impressed with the interruption, but it saves Mike from answering more questions that he won’t be able to bluff through. If you asked his opinion about it, it was ridiculous to be running a criminal enterprise as if pedigree or legitimacy mattered. What should matter was quality, not which secret handshakes they knew. 

But it’s still Jessica’s team. And Harvey might not see eye to eye with Jessica all the time, but he can’t deny that they’re only playing in the big leagues because of her. Hell, she’s probably the reason why they’re all still alive.

“Harvey.”

“Look, he already knows how to build. You’ve built mazes before, haven’t you kid?”

“Yes,” Mike answers, far too confidently for his own good. “Mazes, rooms. Uh...” He looks to Harvey for help.

“Alright, so I never said he was a veteran,” Harvey backpedals a little, “but he’s got as much experience as any of Miles’ special grad students. And he’s better than any of them hands down.”

There’s a long silence. Mike is holding in breath, but Harvey knew he’d won the moment she saw Mike and didn’t kick them both out. Jessica nods slowly to indicate her assent. 

“Alright then,” she says, and it sounds like someone calling a bluff. “You’ve got yourself one week with the boy wonder, then we’ll do a mock run.”

Harvey blinks a couple of times.

“Sorry, did you say one week?”

“It takes Professor Miles a week to find me the right candidates. I’m not risking the deadline for you to take in a stray, Harvey. That’s the offer; take it or leave it.”

Harvey’s opening his mouth to re-engage negotiations, but Mike pipes up and says, “I’ll take it.”

Harvey frowns. Desperation clings to the kid like cheap cologne and if Jessica couldn’t smell it before, she can definitely smell it on Mike now. He might be a natural at dreambuilding, but Mike’s not going to last a day in the grey area of legality if he doesn’t start using his so-called ‘genius’ brain.

“See?” Jessica says. “Kid thinks he can do it. Maybe you should have more faith in your new protege.” 

Harvey begins to protest but Jessica holds up a finger to silence him. 

“One week,” she says and it’s her final offer voice. “I’m not saying it’ll be a walk in the park, but it shouldn’t be too difficult if he’s done this kind of thing before.”

Once Jessica’s out of sight - clients to wrangle, criminals to intimidate - Mike lets his shoulders slump and closes his eyes with a sigh of relief. Harvey clenches his jaw. Mike yelps when Harvey backs him into the nearest wall.

“What the hell was that?” he hisses. “One week? Most people can’t even learn to wipe their ass in a dream in a week.”

To his credit, Mike doesn’t back down. “I’m not most people.”

“The hell you aren’t.”

“You said you’d never seen someone pick up dreamsharing that fast. You said no one could build what I did on their first go.”

Mike’s looking at him with those earnest blue eyes, and suddenly Harvey realises how close he’s standing to him. He backs up a little. You bet that Harvey’s regretting those words ever escaped his lips.

“I’m putting my reputation on the line for you,” he tells Mike, who’s like a belligerent puppy waiting for the rolled newspaper to hit. “This is not fun; this is hard work, you understand? Do not make me regret this and do not let me down.”

Mike nods. He even seems to be listening to and understanding what Harvey’s saying. That’s something. That’s a start. 

And the kid... well, Harvey wasn’t lying when he said Mike was a natural. He’d probably be a natural even without his eidetic memory. Maybe, just maybe, Harvey could teach someone how to be an Architect in a week. 

For a moment, he lets himself think that it’s possible. He’s always been good at playing the odds because Harvey’s a firm believer in making your own luck. 

“I will work harder than anyone you’ve ever known,” Mike swears, filling the silence. “I will work like a total machine. I won’t let you down, Harvey.” 

And then with his most winsome smile: “Help me Obi-wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.”

Harvey lets on the ghost of a grin. Harvey thinks of Mike as someone he can mould in his own image. Mike was certainly bright enough. And, not that Harvey will ever admit this, Mike’s growing on him. Harvey would describe it as a vague fondness you might have for a distant, but wealthy aunt.

“I’m more of a Captain Kirk,” Harvey says.

Mike, of course, has the temerity to say he prefers Picard.


	2. Chapter 2

The client is sedated - thank God for small mercies - when an intruder bursts through the door of Harvey’s hotel room and slams it behind him. Leaving the door unlocked is a rookie mistake, but Harvey doesn’t have time to berate himself because he’s already unholstered his gun and clicked off the safety as a matter of habit. Now he coolly assesses the man who’s catching his breath with his forehead pressed against the door. With his back turned. Not a mercenary then. Probably not anyone that Harvey needs to worry about (read: wants Harvey dead). 

Harvey puts the safety back on, and hides the gun in the duvet. The man is young, early twenties and from cut of his suit, he’s someone who doesn’t wear suits all that often. On the scale of 1 to gunfight, this probably rates as a minor hiccup.

And, as if to prove Harvey right, the man finally turns around, jumps a mile high and drops his briefcase when he sees that the room is very much occupied.

Stunned silence. 

The intruder stares at Harvey, the client on the bed, the PASIV (Lola) and the array of medical equipment laid out on the coffee table. Harvey, in turn, stares at the thousand of dollars of weed that have dropped on the floor in sealed airtight packets.

Harvey gets his bearings first.

“I’m going to close my eyes and count to fifty,” he says, enunciating every word in case this one is a bit slow. “When I open them, you and your merchandise will be gone, and this room is going to appear exactly how it looked five minutes ago. My only logical assumption will be that I have hallucinated this current scene before me, so I won’t call the authorities.”

The man - kid, really - comes to his senses and gets a panicked look over his face. He begins hurriedly shoving the packets back into the briefcase. 

“Look, I just need... ten minutes. I’ll be quiet. Just let me lie low until the cops leave the area.”

Damn amateurs.

“I don’t think so, kid.”

The kid pauses at the door, thinking, and Harvey really, really doesn’t like threatening people with his gun, but he’ll do it if he has to. 

“Well, what about you then?” the kid asks, resuming his drug-gathering duties. He waves at the bed, the syringes and cannula tubes.

“What about me?” Harvey asks patiently, as if he hasn’t been caught in one of the most compromising positions he can think of. Stay calm, stay confident and bluff.

The kid scoffs. “I’m sure the cops would love to see some of this. It’s dope, right? Or...” he trails off, a puzzled expression crossing his face.

New York’s finest might not be able to spot a PASIV when they see one, but they sure can lock him and Lola up until they get the answers they want. Which, all things considered, might be a long time coming. He doesn’t want to even imagine Jessica’s face on that one.

“Or it’s an insulin shot,” Harvey finishes for him. 

“Why is he passed out then?”

“Dad’s taking an afternoon nap.” Harvey schools his voice and face so he appears as pleasant as possible. It’s hard to do when he wants to grind his teeth at the same time.

The kid ruminates on this explanation for half a second.

“Widow’s peak,” he says.

“What?”

“A widow’s peak is a dominant genetic trait. That man on the bed has one, but you don’t. He can’t be your biological father.”

Harvey gives him a look of incredulity.

“I’m adopted,” he returns scathingly, but it comes a second too late to sound completely sincere.

The kid shrugs. “You could be adopted. Or it could be dope... or something else. Either way, you’ll have to force me out of this room, and that’s going to draw a lot of attention from the cops outside. I get the impression that you wouldn’t want that.”

Harvey reaches for his gun.

“That’s a silencer on your pistol, but you’d be stupid to use it while the cops are just outside. They don’t work like the movies, and cops know what silenced gunshots sound like.” The kid’s voice wavers a little and he’s sweating a lot, but he’s not wrong.

“I could shoot you anyway. You’d still be dead.”

“You could’ve shot me five minutes ago,” he says, but his voice is uncertain.

With their respective cards on the table, Harvey doesn’t see much more point in keeping up the charade. He crosses his arms and sits against the headboard on the part of the bed he was originally going to be sleeping in. He places the gun on the nightstand.

The kid gives an obvious sigh of relief, and clicks shut his briefcase. He slides to the floor with his back against the door and sits with his legs bent. He closes his eyes.

“Thanks,” he says, “for not shooting me.”

“Don’t thank me yet, kid.”

*

The kid - ‘Mike’ and Harvey gets the feeling that he’s stupidly giving out his real name - has been murmuring to himself for a long time. Or it could just be that only a few minutes have passed, and Harvey’s an impatient man, especially when it comes to bratty, smart-ass intruders who won’t leave when they’re told.

Harvey tunes into Mike’s breathy voice again. The words sound familiar, and after a moment Harvey recognises it as the Constitution, which Mike can apparently recite word for word. After another moment, Harvey’s natural curiosity gets the better of him and he asks about it.

“Yeah,” Mike says sheepishly. “Sorry, it’s a nervous habit.”

“I wouldn’t have picked you for patriotism, being a fugitive of the law and all.”

Mike makes a face. “No, I - it’s just something I do to pass the time. I know the Canadian Constitution too.”

It’s one of the weirder hobbies Harvey’s come across. “You a lawyer or something?”

Mike laughs unexpectedly. 

“I wanted to be.”

Harvey glances at the client and the movement of his chest tells him that the breathing is still even. What he should probably do is call for back-up, let Jessica know that there’s been a hiccup in their plans and that it would be better to reschedule the whole thing. 

But Harvey’s never one to do the right thing. Or the easy thing. Besides, Jessica can be downright terrifying.

“So how long does it take to memorise a Constitution?” Harvey’s making small talk to pass the time. He’s working off the plan, but he thinks he can probably still save this job. He just needs to figure a way to get the kid out of the room. Eventually, the kid might even leave himself.

Mike shrugs. “I don’t remember things on purpose. I read something once and it just gets stored in my brain.”

“Really,” Harvey says skeptically.

“Really. Test me.”

Hmm. “Read the Bible before?”

“Once,” Mike says with a grin entirely inappropriate for their situation.

Harvey finds a copy in the top drawer of the bedstand. Mike looks unfazed when Harvey opens it to a page at random.

“Deuteronomy, chapter 22, verse 1.”

“Thou shalt not see thy brother's ox or his sheep go astray, and hide thyself from them: thou shalt in any case bring them again unto thy brother. Verse two is: And if thy brother be not nigh unto thee, or if thou know him not, then thou shalt bring it unto thine own house, and it shall be with thee until thy brother seek after it, and thou shalt restore it to him again.” He pauses. “I think God wants me to be nice to my brother’s animals.”

Harvey flips to another page, and Mike reels off the next passage without a hitch. Mike manages to do this five more times, before Harvey puts down the book and decides this probably isn’t some weird set-up and the kid really has a photographic memory. Then he starts thinking about the implications of this. What would happen if someone with Mike’s skills tried Somnacin?

The more he thinks about it, the more it’s an itch in his brain that can’t be scratched. What are the chances he’ll get an opportunity to do this again? What are the chances someone else like Mike exists in the world? Jessica wouldn’t approve, but that’s a given. It’s not something she needs to know about. 

Harvey doesn’t do easy, and he doesn’t do routine. Harvey soars above the ordinary in his private jet and waves at the little ant people below.

But there is one thing Harvey wants to know.

“If you’re such smart-ass, then why the hell are you working as a drug mule? You said you wanted to be a lawyer but you could do anything you wanted with that memory of yours.”

Mike gives him a wry smile.

Harvey figures that the kid probably doesn’t have many close friends, because the whole sob story comes out then. Mike practically oozes bleeding heart liberal from every pore when he tells it. Getting kicked off his scholarship for helping someone cheat a test. Becoming a professional cheat and stoner with his best friend, the drug dealer. His grandmother’s nursing home fees, and finally, why he’s running from the cops.

“I’m desperate, alright?” he says, by way of explanation.

“You’re an idiot,” Harvey tells him. There is raw talent, creativity and intelligence bundled into this one kid, and he’ll end up wasting away in a jail cell because of his drug dealer friend and some seriously misplaced loyalties.

So naturally, Harvey uses that desperation and those poor decision-making skills. For the cash in Harvey’s wallet (three hundred plus change) Mike’s willing to let himself get hooked up to Lola. He lies down on the sofa with a billion questions on the tip of his tongue, but doesn’t ask any of them when Harvey hooks both of them up to the PASIV.

Well, no, he does ask, “Is this going to kill me?”

Harvey snorts and presses the trigger.

The kid’s forgotten to ask for half his money up front.

*

The twenty thousand dollar advance Harvey offers comes from his personal account. He tells himself that the decision is all business and pragmatism, and that the sob story and the guileless, too-lean, too-eager boy has nothing to do it.

Then, after Mike leaves, he finally hooks himself up to the client to do his fucking job. It’s one of the quaint dream holiday jobs that Jessica likes to take because they’re safe, but that Harvey hates because they’re boring, there’s twice the research to do and they don’t pay nearly as well. The client is too ill to travel, but he wants to see his hometown once again. Harvey had to spend all last week researching white Dutch cottages.

Donna would tell him he’s getting soft.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With much thanks to [togglemaps](http://archiveofourown.org/users/togglemaps) for the beta and for her encouragement.

“I can’t afford this, just so you know,” Mike says, peering through the open door into the backseat where Harvey’s sitting.

“Just get in.”

Under Ray’s guiding hand, the car pulls away from the curb and promptly gets stuck in traffic. Harvey had been planning to go over Mike’s backstory in the car, but one look at the kid and he spots a more immediate issue - the catastrophe he’s wearing on his neck. If Rene saw it he’d probably have a heart attack, and more importantly, might actually ban Harvey from his shop if he discovers Harvey associating with people who wore polyester skinny ties. 

“I remember letting you put the suit on my account,” Harvey says, “but I do not remember approving this.” 

Harvey picks up the skinny tie around Mike’s neck with a spare pen. He isn’t touching it with his hands; the bad taste might be infectious.

“It’s a tie?” Mike offers, mystified.

Harvey has one week to make sure Mike doesn’t wet himself in front of Jessica. He is acutely aware that everything Mike does, what he wears, every tiny flaw and slip-up will reflect on Harvey’s taste and judgment. At this rate, molding the kid into his own image was going to take a lot more work than he had first anticipated.

“No, Mike, that is half a tie.” He points to himself. “This is a real tie. This is what adults wear. Do the world a favour and toss that thing in the dumpster when you leave for the day.”

“Okay,” Mike says. “Is this going to be some sort of Pretty Woman deal? Because let me tell you, you are no Richard Gere.”

Harvey’s mind briefly flashes him an image of Mike wearing a low-cut red dress. 

“Let’s get some basic things clear. Number one: I never pay for it. Number two: I like my partners to be above the legal drinking age.”

“Ha ha. Funny.”

“Number three: your appearance matters. Charles Ponzi convinced people to keep investing in his pyramid scheme because he lived and looked like he was making money. We’re convincing people to hand over their secrets. People hate parting with money. They’re worse about parting with secrets.”

“Yeah, but what’s the point if I can just dream the suit? I just spent three months’ rent in an hour on clothes. Well,” he corrects, “I spent three months of my rent on your credit card in an hour. On clothes. But hey, it’s your money.”

Mike, for all his smarts, is suffering from a severe case of not getting it.

“Why did you wear a suit to the Chilton?” Harvey hesitates to call what Mike was wearing a “suit”, but it’s not the point in contention right now. 

Mike opens his mouth to answer, but Harvey cuts him off, “Because you wouldn’t even be able to take three steps without getting noticed by security. Because, in spite of everything, you’re not as stupid as you look. The Chilton’s not the kind of place potheads go to score weed. You needed the suit to blend in.”

“Ninety percent of the work is planning, preparation, research and gathering intel,” Harvey continues. “And the bulk of our work is corporate. No one’s going to let you into an office building looking like some boy who just got released from juvie.”

Mike licks his lips. For a moment Harvey thinks he’s going to get backchat.

But then he gives a crooked grin and asks, “Do I at least get to keep the suit?”

The current ensemble is off-the-rack, but it’s form-fitting and sits well on Mike’s narrow figure. As far as Harvey’s concerned, Renee is a sartorial angel that was sent by God to bestow small miracles upon the more deserving mortals. Wearing one of Renee’s suits makes Mike look almost professional.

Though the skinny tie is not helping.

“That suit money is a loan, kid. You’re paying back the money with your first paycheck, if you should be so lucky. Think of it as an investment into your future.”

Mike looks unconvinced. “I guess I should be grateful.”

“You probably should. What about that briefcase? Did you dump it like I told you to?”

The expression on Mike’s face tells Harvey everything he needs to know before Mike even opens his mouth. Mike’s going to try to evade the issue which means the answer to his question is a resounding “no”. No, Harvey, I was too much of a coward to cut myself loose completely. There is a dull pain at the back of Harvey’s right eye that he should start getting accustomed to.

“I-”

“That briefcase is a liability.” 

Truthfully, Mike is the liability, but it’s too late to be having second thoughts because Harvey’s already chosen to ignore that part of his brain. 

“I don’t know what kind of second rate operation you’re used to dealing with, but we’re low profile and low risk. We stay alive if we stay off the radar, and that includes the police and drug cartels.” Especially drug cartels. “Nod if you understand.”

Mike nods. Thank God for that. 

“Get rid of your personal stash as well. Somnacin is experimental and volatile; it’s never been tested on people with psychoactives in their system. You don’t smoke, pop pills, shoot up or even drink alcohol over the next week, without reporting to me first. You don’t even think about it. Understand?”

“Yes. Nothing fun can happen while I work for you.” 

“Right,” Harvey agrees, “because this is work, not fun. I’m not paying you to have fun.”

The corner of Mike’s mouth lifts up. “I understand. You hate fun.” 

Harvey gives him a sidelong glance. “You know, some people would jump at the chance to be in your position. I’m the best Point Man this side of the Atlantic.”

“Just this side of the Atlantic?” asks Mike with a cocky look. “You mean Harvey Specter’s not the best there is in the world?”

The kid’s mouth will get him into trouble, but Harvey is increasingly finding that he doesn’t mind. Mike is reassuringly... real, which is a quality that none of Miles’ students have ever exhibited. They can talk paradox theories for hours, but Harvey doesn’t think he’s ever had a real conversation with any of them. Maybe this is what comes from having a reputation that precedes him.

Mike has rough edges - and that’s good. Harvey’s job will be to sand Mike into sharpened point.

“Harvey Specter respects his elders and esteemed peers, and so should you,” Harvey says, responding in the third-person. “And kid, let me tell you that the only thing you’re ranking in right now is being a giant pain in my ass.”

*

Jessica’s hired out an empty office floor inside the building where the Mark supposedly works, and that’s where they’ve been bunkered down this past week. 

Harvey says ‘supposedly’ because he’s never actually seen the Mark. In fact, he has no idea who their Mark is. Jessica did all the initial leg-work for the job, brought them in after the clients had been met and the space had already been set up. Normally Harvey wouldn’t have a problem with other people doing the parts of his job that he hates, except Jessica’s done this to keep them all in the dark. There’s been the vague promise of six figures and a tell-all down the track, but it’s been two weeks and they don’t even know who the Mark is, let alone any other details of the job. The fact she keeps talking about their “tight deadline” puts the cherry on the cream on the icing on the cake.

Harvey would call meeting about it, but Jessica’s been avoiding him. He’d briefly toyed with the idea of calling a meeting without her, but then he’d decided that would feel too much like mutiny, so soon after they’ve worked through their respective trust issues. Namely one that went by the name of Daniel Hardman.

And in all fairness, Jessica wouldn’t have the time for meetings anyway. If she was really trying to work a five-person job by herself, then she wouldn’t have much time for anything. 

Which means that Harvey gets to spend quality time with the new kid.

They take the elevator and Harvey swipes his keycard for the eighteenth floor. The office is mostly empty, although they’ve removed a handful of desks and chairs from storage. It’s a nice setup, a lot nicer than the warehouses and rentals he’s used to. It almost makes him feel like he has a white collar job as he rides the elevator up with a dozen professionals.

Harvey leads Mike to a large, open area with mismatched couches arranged in a ring. Mike rounds the corner at Harvey’s heels.

“So what’s first?”

Harvey glances at his phone. Donna hasn’t replied to his text message yet which means that she’s probably working recon this morning. 

“You’re coming under with me. The weed will still be in your system, but you managed okay at the hotel. The full detox will take you months anyway and we don’t have time for that.” Harvey points to the PASIV sitting on the table. “You remember Lola, don’t you?”

Mike’s eyes get bright like it’s Christmas. He’s made for this. Just like Harvey’s made for this.

Mike takes a seat while Harvey kneels at the table, runs his hands across the curves of Lola’s aluminium casing, and unlocks the latch. Harvey knows how to disassemble and reassemble the three hundred and more individual parts of the PASIV in under an hour, but right now Mike doesn’t need to know anything but the Cliff Notes.

“Comfortable?”

“Uhuh.”

Harvey points out the trigger and the timer, and shows him the way Somnacin is distributed from the pump through the cannula tubes. 

“Use new, sterilised needles every time. And don’t forget to flush the tubes with saline solution after each session.”

“Sure,” Mike says, nodding.

He demonstrates swapping out the Somnacin vials, and sets the timer for ten minutes. “I expect you to know this, and know how to do it by yourself,” he says, unwinding the two IV lines from the case. 

Mike grins and taps on his temple. “Got it stored all up here.”

Harvey would kill to have Mike’s ability. The kid has squandered it. 

And as a drug mule? Really?

Harvey jabs Mike’s IV a little harder than necessary and Mike winces. Rookies.

“I’ll get you some lollipops next time for the ouchies.”

Mike rolls his head to face Harvey. “Ha-ha.”

Harvey smirks openly and takes a chair. His own needle is a sharp sting, nothing more.

“Ready?”

Mike nods, and Harvey leans over to the table, and pushes the trigger.

*

“Let me get this right: you can choose to dream about anything, and you choose hotdogs?” Mike says, apparently happy to defame the grand institution of New York hotdog vendors. At least he’s turned up wearing the suit, although the skinny tie seems to have stuck itself in Mike’s mental self-image. Harvey has a sinking feeling it’s going to stay whether he likes it or not.

“Are you even from New York?” Harvey asks. He bites into the bread roll and dubiously-sourced meat. It’s perfect. It even has the right amount of ketchup, mustard and onion.

Mike isn’t listening anymore. He has his face turned to the skyline and he’s looking back and forth at his surroundings. He’s not looking at the street, and almost walks into a busy intersection before Harvey hooks a finger around Mike’s collar to stop him from traumatically dying from internal bleeding on his first day.

“This isn’t New York,” he says breathlessly.

“Obviously,” says Harvey. 

This fact should be pretty apparent. Apparently, Mike didn’t have a problem distinguishing between dreams and reality like everyone else, something they’d discovered at the hotel. It keeps them ahead of the three-months-in-a-week long training schedule, but Harvey can’t help but feel resentful when he remembers his own rookie year.

“It looks like New York. It even feels like it. But this intersection doesn’t exist.” The street signs are blurred but form numbers and letters when Mike focuses. Perceiving and creating. “42nd and 94th? But-”

“They’re random,” says Harvey. “You don’t create dreams from memory. Aside from the fact you’ll be designing mazes to avoid projections, creating from memory is a great way to lose your grasp on what’s real.”

“Gotcha.” 

There’s an uncharacteristic silence from Mike.

“You have no idea what I’m talking about do you?”

“No clue. What’s a projection?”

“The people. They’re populated by the subconscious,” he says shortly. Namely, Mike’s subconscious. But Mike doesn’t know this yet, and Harvey’s going to make the most of having this brief advantage. “Accuracy’s overrated anyway - the important thing is that the place has to feel real. Get the right shapes, building materials, layout of the city; throw in some yellow taxis, a road sign, a couple of hot dog carts...”

“Then you’ve got New York,” Mike finishes in a hushed tone. Harvey almost laughs at the melodrama in his voice.

They take a stroll. Mike walks ahead of Harvey, excitedly touching and looking and pointing at things. Harvey wants to pat him on the head and give him a treat, which is weird because Harvey’s never been one for pet ownership. Having Mike around is like owning a puppy. After the novelty wears off, Harvey can use a rolled-up newspaper on Mike when he inevitably takes a non-literal shit inside Harvey’s house. 

Maybe a literal rolled-up newspaper would even work.

Mike is brimming with barely-contained energy and Harvey gives him permission to leave the street to explore inside the Rockefeller Centre. This his opportunity to find out more about his new Architect-in-training. He’s done the research, checked out Mike’s story as far as he could, but that’s different to actually knowing the man. 

Knowing how to play the man, in case he ever needs to extract from Mike.

Harvey canvasses the street and spots one of the clearest recurring projections. He pretends to look away and deliberately walks into her path.

She drops the books she’s carrying.

“Sorry,” Harvey says, bending down to pick up the books like he’s in a bad romantic comedy. Freakonomics and Bad Science. He pretends to do a double take when he sees her. “Hey, aren’t you a friend of Mike Ross’?”

It’s not his smoothest opening, but projections were rarely smart enough to notice. He’s on the clock if he wants to grill this projection for information.

“You know Mike?” she asks uncertainly, taking the books from his hands. A girlfriend maybe.

“We work together.”

She takes a look at his suit. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met...”

“Harvey Specter.” He takes a gamble. “You know what? I don’t think we have met. I’ve seen you in the photos on Mike’s desk.”

She shakes his hand. “I’m Jenny. It’s nice to meet your Mr. Specter,” she says, but her voice is suspicious. “What did you say you did?”

“I didn’t. But I’m a lawyer.” A quick background check had shown Mike used to be enrolled in Columbia Law School before he got kicked out for academic misconduct. “We’ve recently hired Mike as one of our new researchers.”

A hush suddenly comes over the dream. The difference is subtle, but Harvey’s been inside a Mark’s head enough times to recognise the warning signs. Cars still honk, traffic still moves chaotically, but it’s like everyone has decided to hold their breath at the same time. 

The projections eyeball him. A woman jostles him from behind. The pedestrians start crowding Harvey on the curb, moreso than before, and it’s one of those moments his gun becomes a reassuring presence at his back. Getting mobbed and beaten to death by projections was probably one of the more messy and unpleasant ways to go. 

Harvey really doesn’t want to explain to Mike why his projections suddenly became hostile, so he has to try and save this.

“Mike’s not a lawyer.” 

He’s being crowded so tightly that he has to take a few steps forward into Jenny’s space to avoid getting elbowed in the back. Jenny’s holding her books so tight her knuckles are white. Harvey has no doubt she’ll be the first to start clubbing him over the head. 

“He’s a paralegal,” he says smoothly.

“What kind of law firm hires college drop-outs?”

Harvey hasn’t worked this hard for an untrained mind since his first year. The projections swarm to him so he can’t see past the sea of heads that trap him in with Jenny.

“We don’t discriminate when it comes to talent. And Mike’s abilities - his memory - make him a very valuable asset to our firm.”

And then, just like that, the tension vanishes.

The projections part and disperse so Harvey finally has some personal space. When he finds himself facing the Jenny projection again, her body language has completely changed. She’s smiling, relaxed. 

“That’s wonderful,” she says. “I told Mike he’d find something if he just set his mind to it. And now he can stop worrying about the nursing home fees too.”

“Mike mentioned he was short on cash.”

“His grandmother’s the only family he has left,” she supplies for him. “It’s a lot of money, but I guess the nursing home needs to pay their bills too.” 

Apparently once someone gained the trust of Mike’s paranoid subconscious, his projections just started offering free information left and right. Harvey will need to train that out of him.

“We pay very well.”

“He deserves it,” she nods. And then just stands there, a goldmine of secrets that Harvey can just dig into. He doesn’t have any qualms about doing it either, except he’s still on the clock and Mike will probably finish exploring the wonders of office interior design soon.

“Look, I’m on my lunchbreak - I have to get back.”

“Oh, of course,” she says. “It was nice meeting you, Mr Specter.”

*

Mike joins him outside much later than Harvey initially estimates.

“It was awesome, Harvey, you should’ve seen it!” Mike gushes. “I went to the fiftieth floor and there was an actual office with people working there. There was even a water cooler. And a view. I started reading one of their files, and then the receptionist called security to escort me out of the building.”

He’s so excited that Harvey doesn’t have the heart to tell him that he’s recycled the same interior for every floor of every building.

Mike stops suddenly, puts a hand on Harvey’s lapel. Harvey glances down at the hand then back to Mike. His eyes are wide and excited.

“Is this like the Matrix? Can I fly? If I jump off a building-”

“Then you’ll die in the dream and wake up,” Harvey finishes. “It’ll be quick for you, but I don’t want to deal with the mess. It’s not the Matrix. Don’t start getting ideas into your head, kid.”

In light of recent conversation, Harvey begins steering them towards a large park.

“How do you even keep track of everything?” Mike asks. “I can remember everything I’ve seen since I was ten, but I’m not thinking about it all at once.”

“It’s just like I told you: work on the general feel of a location and your mind fills in the rest. I think tenements with fire escapes - my mind adds the skyscrapers and yellow taxis. The details will matter if you’re building special rooms or buildings that a Mark knows intimately, but cities are just a series of impressions.”

“And the people? You said they were part of your subconscious.”

“Your subconscious.”

Mike points to himself. “They’re me?”

“Right now you’re the subject, and I’m the dreamer. I build, you populate. We extract from the subject by tricking the Mark into placing their secrets in the dream, usually through physical symbols of safety and security. Like a safe or a vault. Then we can take the information from the location, and we memorise it to take back.”

Mike’s talents are invaluable for a number of reasons. At the moment they only dealt with short, specific snippets of data. But with Mike on their team, they could extract every single thought the Mark ever had, given enough time.

“Like con men,” Mike says. “Or thieves,” he adds carefully.

“Well I’ve never spilled a briefcase full of weed in a stranger’s hotel room while I was trying to hide from the cops.”

Harvey has, however, been shot at by hired goons more times than he can count, patched three bullet holes in his body by himself, and was once forced to stay off the radar in Vladivostok in the middle of winter for two months while Donna tracked down the money behind a hit. But Mike doesn’t need to know that.

“I did kind of wonder why the receptionist looked and sounded like my eighth grade teacher.” He pauses. “Just so we’re clear - I was basically talking to someone I’d imagined. Or my subconscious imagined. Whatever. I was talking to myself.”

“You got it..”

“Because my eighth grade teacher? Hot.”

He sees the revelation dawn on Mike’s face, and it’s like some sort of rite of passage that every person in the business has to go through. They could literally make any stupid fantasy come true. 

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh come on, Harvey. You’ve tried it, right?”

“Let me make this absolutely clear,” he says. “If I ever find out you’ve desecrated Lola with your perverted adolescent fantasies, then I’m coming after you and that 20k is going to be the least of your problems.”

“Alright, fine,” Mike says but he’s clearly not taking Harvey’s threat to heart because he adds, “but could you even you control it? So when I have dreams about-”

“Stop. Right now.” He is not about to go into the mechanics of sex with projections with this kid who looks like he’s just reached the other side of puberty.

But Mike’s already trailed off, his eyes scanning the distance. “What’s that?”

Harvey hadn’t noticed it over the sound of the traffic, but now he hears the harmonica like it’s being played through speakers fixed into the sky. He looks at his watch. Donna must be back from recon. As always, her timing is perfect.

“It’s the kick,” he tells Mike.

And Mike asks, “What’s a-”


End file.
